


Honey Mead

by HeidiBug731



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drinking, Dry Humping, Dry Sex, F/M, Fluff, drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 17:17:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11787774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeidiBug731/pseuds/HeidiBug731
Summary: Solas and Lavellan overindulge in a night of drinking and can't keep their hands off each other. Inspired by affectionate Drunk!Solas headcanon.





	Honey Mead

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be a piece of fluff for "Das'Vallas" where I've been posting my Tumblr drabbles. But this turned out way too long for that. So here it is on its own.
> 
>  
> 
> [Inspired by Drunk!Solas headcanon](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/163970887768/)

She isn’t certain how it happened. That Solas would drop his controlled countenance for even a minute in public boggles her mind. Perhaps their friends slipped him stronger liquors or coaxed him into a few more drinks. Or maybe he actually let himself relax and have some fun for once. 

Whatever the case, no one is more surprised than she when he rises from the tavern table and, instead of guiding her to her seat, kisses her on the mouth, his tongue taking full advantage of her gasp. 

He’s usually so careful about how he presents himself, about how he presents  _her_. She is the Inquisitor, after all. She has an image to uphold. Thus many of their tender moments are shared privately, behind closed doors or under the gaze of those who know them best. Rumors have persisted around Skyhold of their relationship, and they let them persist. Not that she cares, but Solas does, for her sake. 

The gasps that reach her ears tell her they won’t be rumors much longer. Was that a cheer from the back table? Did Maryden miss a string? 

He tastes of alcohol, something sweet that reminds her of honey. He holds her face in his hands, bidding her not to pull away. He kisses her slowly and with care, as though he wants to get every detail right. And he does it in the middle of the tavern floor in full view of everyone.  

She  _likes_  this Solas. This Solas she could use more of. She smiles into his lips.

Another cry comes from the back table, and they part. The heat rises in her checks from their friends’ mischievous grins. But Solas remains nonchalant as though nothing out of the ordinary occurred. He guides her to her seat with an arm around her waist, and he smiles at her as he picks up his cards. 

Varric deals her in, and she stifles a gasp as Solas slides his free hand under the table to glide down her thigh to her knee. She looks to him, but his eyes remain fixed on his cards, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

The Iron Bull throws a few silver into the center of the table. “Do you want something, Boss?” 

She points at Solas’ half empty glass. “Whatever he’s having.” 

“Would you like to try, vhenan?” He turns his hand down to hide his cards and slides the glass to her by his wrist. He watches her as she sips, the fingers of his other hand tracing tantalizing swirls into her knee.  

“Do you like it?” His voice is heavy in a way that she’s not sure he’s talking about the alcohol. 

“I do.“ Her breathless voice betrays more than she likes. 

Definitely clover honey - mead, thick, sweet, and golden. Though she thinks she liked the taste better on his lips, and she’d prefer the hand on her leg a little higher up.  

He answers her thoughts with a gleam in his eye and by inching his fingers toward more sensitive skin. 

It becomes difficult to focus on the game. The alcohol leaves her warm in her stomach. Solas’ fingers leave her warm in other places. Even the tavern air feels stuffy, heated by the flaming lanterns and the energy of so many bodies.

“I fold,” she says halfway into the second round. She throws her cards down in front of her in defeat, Solas driving her mad as he strokes her inner thigh.

She catches a breath of laughter from him, a smirk in the corner of his mouth. But his eyes never leave his cards. Though, if he were truly focused on the game, he wouldn’t be losing so badly. 

She’s worried everyone knows, but drink seems to have taken them. Bull is laughing hardily at she doesn’t know what. Dorian is languishing drunkenly on his arm. The few Chargers who joined the game have taken to sporadic bursts of song. Only Varric and Cole seem to have their wits about them.  

And if either of them have noticed anything unusual, she knows Varric at least has the tact to  _act_  like he’s seen nothing. And though Cole has been staring at her most of the evening, shouting  _Do not say a word!_  inside her head seems to have kept him at bay. 

The round is never finished. Once it’s clear half the table has lost interest, Solas tosses his cards aside. His fingers fully wrap around her inner thigh, pulling her closer to him on the bench. His lips go to her ear, kissing and whispering sweet nothings in ancient elven.  

"Okay,” says Varric. “I think we’re done.” He scoops the pile of coins in the middle of the table toward himself and slaps Bull’s hand as he reaches. “Easy, big guy. I’ll make sure everyone gets back what they put in." 

It takes some shouting and Dorian stirring from his stupor for Bull to lose interest. 

Varric looks her way. "If you two are suddenly cool with public affection then by all means pretend none of us exist. But you might want to get him out of here." 

Solas lips have found their way to her neck, and the hand not occupied with her thigh is groping it’s way up her front. 

She has no objections to Solas’ affections, but she’s eager to leave the vicinity of raucous voices and drunken witnesses. She stands with some difficultly, Solas leaning into her as he crushes his mouth to hers. 

“Honey, heavy, sticky, sweet, tastes so much sweeter on her. 

“No, kid,” says Varric. “Let them have their thoughts to themselves.” 

“I didn’t take their thoughts, Varric. They came to me.” 

“Even so. Some things shouldn’t be shared.” 

She pushes Solas toward the door, her head spinning, uncertain if she’s going in the right direction. It takes them a couple tries, Solas taking advantage of a support beam to push her up against. The drunken tavern patrons roar in approval, spurring them on.  

Part of her doesn’t care, wouldn’t mind at all if she took him here in front of everyone. The other part of her, the tiny piece managing to claw through her inebriation calls out all the louder. She fists her hands into the front of his tunic and hauls them both outside. 

The cold mountain air sobers them for one dazzling instant. Solas stumbles, not from drink, she believes, but from clarity jarring his head. Still clinging to her, he nearly takes her down, but together they find their balance.  

Neither of them lets go of the other. They lean against each other, breathing hard, and walk with an oddly steady gait toward the stairs to the main hall. It’s darker inside the castle walls, flickering candles offering the only dim light. It’s quieter too, the inhabitants having retired to bed long before the tavern’s rowdy occupants. 

They are alone. 

As though the thought occurs to them both at once, they clash together again, all sobriety forgotten. They clamber toward the atrium, nearly tumbling over Varric’s chair near the empty fireplace in their haste. 

Once inside the door, he pushes her against the wall. She pulls him to her, claiming his mouth as he grasps at her clothing.  

They make their way across the room, spilling notes from his table onto the floor. He gives them no mind, trampling them as they reach the comfort of the sofa. 

They are a jumble of grasping hands and seeking lips. They press together, their hips grinding. Solas groans, and it’s the most beautiful sound she’s ever heard. She revels in the feel of his lips on her neck, of his fingers curled into the waistband of her trousers. She pushes him onto his back and straddles his hips. They grind together, still clothed, clutching each other, seeking with desperate kisses. 

She rides him, his hips crashing upward to meet hers, their clothing adding to the friction. She moans into his shoulder, her fingers buried in the fabric of his tunic like she’d lose herself otherwise. He wraps his arms around her, holding her in place as their needy movements build, growing more demanding. He turns his face to kiss her ear, but whimpers into it instead. 

She comes first, and he follows, their cries joining together in the night air. She collapses into him, and he folds his arms around her. For a time, they simply breathe.

“Should we have done that?” she asks, her head suddenly more capable of rational thought.

“I… don’t know.” He turns his head to meet her. “Do you regret it?”

“No.”

He takes her face in his hands and kisses her as tenderly as when she entered the tavern.

“Would you?” he asks when they part. “Like to try again? With less clothing?”

“Yes.” She shakes her head. “I mean, no. I mean…” She sighs and drops her head to his shoulder. “I would really rather our first time together be with clearer heads.”

“Technically, we already…” He doesn’t finish that sentence. Instead, he kisses her cheek and holds her tighter. “I know what you mean. I would too.”

She pulls back to look at him. “So, we shouldn’t do that.”

“No, we shouldn’t.” He reaches for her and kisses her again.

It isn’t long before they return to their breathless grasping of each other.

“I should go.” But she makes no effort to leave, her lips returning to his.

“You should.” But his arms never leave her.

Her hands find their way under his tunic and up his back, his belt apparently having been discarded at some point during their activities. She rakes her nails over his skin, and he gasps.

“I don’t see this going where we want.” She presses a kiss against his jaw.

“That’s a matter of debate.” He holds her to him and rolls his hips against hers. 

She sighs and leans into him. “We already discussed we shouldn’t.”

“We have.”

Neither of them makes any effort to stop. She can’t get enough of the feel of his skin under his tunic. She drags her fingers along just to touch him, to find the muscles underneath and the raised scars on top. She wants to know him with her lips, to lift the tunic over his head and kiss every inch.

His hands are in her hair as he kisses her, and they create a tangled mess as she moves away from him, leaning down to lift his tunic slightly. She starts at his hip where his trousers begin, pressing her lips to his warm skin.

He tugs her on her blouse, trying to pull it over her head. The cool air on her back brings a sudden clarity.

“Solas!” she cries out in admonishment of them both.

He gives a groan of frustration, and lets go of her, spreading his arms out so as not to touch her.

She gives a breath of laughter.

“You have approximately five seconds,” he says.

“Just five?”

“That’s all the willpower I can muster.”

She laughs again and manages to get off the sofa before his hand snatches her wrist.

“Solas…”

“Stay,” he says. “We could sleep together. I mean, _actual_ sleep.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t see that working out.”

“I do.” He gives a tug on her arm. “Come back.”

She doesn’t fight him. She has no will or desire to. She climbs on top of him again, kissing his lips. “Just sleep.”

“Just sleep,” he agrees before kissing her thoroughly, his arms enveloping her once more.

Their promise is completely forgotten. She returns to his hips, pushing up his tunic to continue kissing his skin. She loves the soft sighs he makes as she kisses a trail up to his collar bone, pushing the tunic over his head.

He grasps at her blouse, pulling it off her as well. She lays against him, enjoying the feel of their skin together. She kisses him, and as she does, he glides his hands over her back, slowly, taking her in. Only when he ventures lower, finding her waistband and slipping a few fingers underneath, does she come to her senses. 

“Sleep!” she gasps, wrenching her lips from his with an audible suctioning sound. “We’re supposed to _sleep!_ ” 

He gives another frustrated groan and splays out his arms again.

“Do I need to tie your hands to the couch?”

He chuckles. “That would be… interesting.”

“Oh, shut up.” 

But she laughs too, and once she does it’s impossible to stop. Her laughter seems to feed Solas, making her body shake as he chuckles under her.

“Stop it!” she tells him. “Your laughing is making _me_ laugh.”

“You started it.”

“I did _not_.”

He laughs again.

It’s a struggle to get their giggles to die down. Once they think they’ve got it under control, one of them starts up again. Eventually, she can no longer remember what began the whole thing in the first place.

“Solas?” she asks once they’ve regained some control over themselves.

“Mmm?”

“It’s… a little chilly in here. My shirt…”

Neither of them can discern where their clothing ended up, apparently tossed into the shadows of the room.

But there’s a blanket over the back of the sofa, and Solas is able to tug it off. She drapes it over herself, covering them both. His arms slide under the blanket, returning to wrap around her.

“How is that, vhenan?” 

“Better.” She gives him a kiss. “Do you think we can actually sleep this time?”

He smiles. “I’m up for trying.”

She lays her head on his shoulder. “Goodnight, ma lath.”

“Goodnight, vhenan.”

They finally manage to sleep. And when morning comes far too soon with its unwanted light and the voices and footsteps of others, they pull the blanket over their heads and ignore the world.

**Author's Note:**

> [original tumblr post](https://liaragaming.tumblr.com/post/164060060348)  
>   
>  If I entertained you, consider [buying me a coffe](https://ko-fi.com/heidirs)  
>   
> Thanks for reading!


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